Watch It Burn
by Cerafine
Summary: A year after the Turn and shortly after the fall of the prison for Rick Grimes' group, 25 year-old Henri Lawson treks to South Carolina to seek out the last living friend she might have left in the world. While hiding in an abandoned house, she is accosted by a stranger and thrown off course... M-Rating for language/content, very violent sexual content later in story. Adults only!
1. Chapter 1: Into the Black

Watch It Burn

Written by Cerafine

Chapter 1: Into the Black

Henri started violently awake. The haunting melody of "Into the Black" still echoed in her head, the remnant of some dream that was a repeated memory from the past. Her hand automatically flew up to clutch the silver pendant that hung around her neck, and she brought it to her lips and held it there, a gesture that always brought her comfort. As always when waking these days, she had the horrible and utterly certain feeling that drooling corpses would be before her eyes when she opened them, inches from devouring her. Looking wildly around with her hand gripping the hunting knife on her hip, she at last assured herself that she was safe.

Well. For the moment, anyways. That hysterical inner voice laughed crazily in the back of her mind at thinking the word "safe." No such thing anymore.

She had sought refuge in the night in the rotted and scooped-out trunk of a huge, dead old oak. Winding a small double-perimeter of barbed wire around the four trees in the closest proximity to her shelter, she had buried her pack and weapons in the dead leaves next to the tree's old husk, plopped her aching and tired ass down inside of the trunk, dredged armfulls of wet, moldering, stinking leaves over her and all around her for concealment, and promptly crashed. It wasn't the safest form of shelter she had divised for herself since the Turn, but it was satisfactory for a woman who was exhausted and near starvation. _Fuck the extra effort,_ she had thought rebelliously as she let the blackness wash over her. _Living at all is living dangerously now. I need some fucking sleep. _

Only to wake up at some point later (who knew how much later- by the look of the sky it was anywhere between midnight and 2 in the morning) in the same panicked, snapped-awake way that had become a regular thing for her now. It was that white-hot, scared feeling that she could only remember acquainting with waking in the middle of the night and thinking an intruder was in her home before the Turn. At least back then she had had Will to hold her and soothe her fears.

Thinking of Will was something she tried hard to avoid these days. She missed his lazy, crooked grin, which he always wore when giving her a hard time about something or when he was about to tell her a joke. His dark hair, always unkempt and with permanent hat-head from wearing around that ridiculous camouflage hat he loved so much. His easy, strolling gait when he walked, as if he never needed to hurry anywhere and didn't have a care in the world. His hands, large farmer's hands that were rough, tanned and callused from long hours of hard work. His shirts with the buttons always missing at the top, the sleeves rolled up or simply cut off of them in the summer time. His smell, a combination of Old Spice, motor oil and burned wood. Most of all, his eyes haunted her; those soulful brown eyes that always seemed to see down into the very core of her. She had always told him that people could look into his eyes and see that he was a good man. And he was, so good to her. Good to everyone he loved-

_ Bad idea, Henri,_ his voice warned her. As it had been when he was alive, Will's voice was her guide. _You know where this line of thinking takes you. _

As always, he was right. She mentally shoved it away the way you might shove away someone who was trying to kill you. And really, there was no difference between the two. That trail of thoughts was poison.

Sticking her head out of her shelter and gazing around quickly, she pushed the leaves off of her and rose creakily to her feet, slowly stretching her aching legs. She had been sleeping cramped into an upright fetal position, and she was going to be paying the price for that today. She felt like she had been hit by a truck. She angled her sore neck to the right and heard a corroborative CRACK as the tension worked itself out. Reaching down, she dug her pack out of the leaves. She took down the barbed wire, wound it up, and shoved it into the bag before shouldering it and looking towards the road. She wasn't far into the woods, just enough to be concealed by any unsavory passersby, and she preferred to travel on the road; the terrain wasn't as treacherous. A few weeks back she had been trekking through the woods and caught the toe of her boot under a raised tree root that had been hidden by leaves, and it had taken her down hard. She had lain there, unmoving, absolutely sure that she had snapped her ankle and was going to spend the last bit of her life crawling though the woods, unable to put weight on her foot. Once she finally got up the courage to pull her foot out of the trap and rotate her ankle around, she realized that it was only going to be bruised and sore, nothing broken. Still, it had slowed her down and made her vulnerable. At least on the pavement, mother nature wasn't going to have the last laugh by crippling her and making her an even easier snack for the undead. She only took to the woods now when she needed cover.

She knew she should go back to sleep; she couldn't have had more than a couple of hours of rest and she knew it was dangerous to travel at night. _You know goddamn well it is,_ Will fumed in her head. Henri knew she was awake for the foreseeable future though; she was wired and needed to move. She stepped out of the treeline and onto the worn and patched pavement of Interstate 20. From what she could estimate, she was about halfway between Covington and Madison; the going had been painfully slow trying to avoid throngs of zombies (well, what the hell else can you call them? Still, it felt so silly) as she picked her way across the state of Georgia. Her destination was still an insurmountable distance away. She vowed that she would make it or die trying.

The latter seemed much more likely.

Henri scanned the dark interstate around her for signs of movement, standing absolutely still and listening intently. Nothing. No signs of life. Or, more importantly, death. Hitching at the straps on her pack, she checked her knife to be sure it was secured to her hip and set out once again into the darkness. _Here we go. _

After about an hour of fast-paced walking, she came upon a tangled maze of stalled, rusted-out cars, trucks, and other vehicles that appeared to stretch for about half a mile down I-20. A red motorcycle lay on its side at the rear of the jam.

Henri shivered, and not from the chill in the night air. Bad things skulked in these traffic necropolises sometimes, as she had learned the hard way. After not once, but twice having a skeletal, rotting hand snake out from between two cars and grab her leg, she was extremely wary of them. She was even more afraid of the potential living people who may be holing up in one of the vehicles during the night for shelter.

_ This was a bad idea, Henri,_ Will ominously echoed in her head. _Why don't you ever listen?_

"I do," she mumbled curtly to herself, pressing reluctantly forward. "I'm still alive, aren't I?" Responding to Will's voice in her head was a development that seemed to ease her anxiety and helped her cope. Anything was better than what she had been doing previously to cope, so she pretended it was normal for now.

She stopped, took a knee on the pavement, and quickly scanned her pack to take a quick inventory. She was nearly out of water, with only half of a bottle left. Her food rations were okay-ish for the moment, but a small bag of beef jerky and three cans of corn weren't going to take her too much further before she would have to begin actively searching for food, a time-consuming and chancy prospect. She had searched for food for an entire day before and come up empty-handed, lying down for a night of uneasy sleep with her stomach gnawing at her with hunger. She decided to search every vehicle, on the off-chance that maybe she could find food, water, medicine or even cigarettes somewhere in this skeletal wasteland.

Cigarettes were her guilty pleasure before the Turn, and still were now. When she would drink with friends or have a moment alone, she would sit on her front porch swing under the awning and have a smoke, something she had always enjoyed doing. Though she wasn't a pack-a-day smoker, she loved having one occasionally. Especially now when small pleasures were so rare. Will had hated it. "You taste lahk cig-uh-rets," he would always say in his best Forrest Gump voice when she would kiss him. Annoying as shit, but she would give just about anything to hear him say it again.

Striding with purpose to the first car, a dented blue Chevy Malibu, she saw that the trunk was already open and her heart sank as she realized that the area had already been looted, though she had expected it to be. Even so, she lifted the trunk lid and glanced inside to see what might be left. Nothing, of course. The rest of the car was empty as well save for a lot of change in the ashtray and some trash in the floorboards.

Moving to the next car, a shiny black Taurus, she saw that the trunk was closed and made her way cautiously to the driver's side to retrieve the keys. A dead man sat in the driver's seat, slumped over and nearly mummified. She prodded him lightly, then a little more forcefully. No response. She reached past him to the ignition and hooked the keys out, unlocking the trunk.

Lifting the lid and staring inside, she could hardly believe her luck. An entire case of Dasani water and what looked to be bags of groceries. The overpowering stench of rotten milk and food told her that much of it was perishable, but a few things could be salvaged- she found four cans of sweet peas, three of green beans, a large can of baked beans, Spaghetti-O's, and more corn. There was also a box of granola bars. Feeling like she had just won the damn lottery, she quickly unzipped her pack and scooped up the loot, tossing it inside. She stopped, staring at the case of water. Oh, how she wished she could take it all. It wasn't going to happen, however; too heavy and not enough room in the bag for all of it. She tore open the thick plastic covering and grabbed as many as would fit into the pack, stacking them on their sides from the bottom up on top of her food cans. She counted eight bottles altogether, then after thinking for a moment, she guzzled the last of her old bottle and tossed it in the trunk, grabbing one more new one for herself. She opened the lid and drank more, gulping it down. She always felt dehydrated and thirsty anymore; this was most likely a result of never having enough sleep, malnutrition, and constantly physically exerting herself. She put the cap back on and shoved it into the side carrier in her pack before moving back up to the passenger side of the Taurus.

Opening the door, she sat down next to the dead man in the seat and popped open the glove box. Maps, napkins, and straws... She searched through the crap and found what she had hoped for- a half-empty pack of Camel filters. Looking around the car, she finally patted the front of the dead man's shirt pocket and reached in, producing a lighter. She heard Will's disapproving yammering and chose to ignore it, lighting up a smoke and inhaling deeply. She felt the pleasant thrum of the nicotine buzz spread through her from head to toe, leaning her head back against the head rest and closing her eyes. _It's the little things,_ _Will,_ she thought at him defiantly, taking another deep drag. _When I have nothing else left on this earth to live for, I have to find some little things to enjoy or I'll just give up._

Will was quiet for once.

Opening the center console of the car, she found another surprise- a gun. The ammo was stocked up in boxes underneath the weapon. As she eagerly grabbed for it to add it to her supplies, she stopped and looked at the dead man she was looting from. She suddenly felt an overwhelming wave of gratitude for this unfortunate man who had died and left her all of his wealth that he had, albeit unintentionally. "Thank you," she said softly. She finished packing up the weapon and ammo and exited the vehicle to continue her search.

She had taken no more than two or three steps toward the next vehicle in her path, a white Dodge pickup truck, when she heard a stealthy _scraaaaape_.

She froze.

It was ahead of her; she could hear the telltale rasping of its dead voice from its throat now as well. A hollow thump informed her that the zombie had smacked into the side of a sideways-stalled vehicle in its attempt to reach her. It had either seen the flame from her lighter or heard the door shut when she got out, it didn't really matter. She would have to put it down now to get past it. The problem was that she could barely see it, just a shambling, hulking figure in the darkness slowly making its way towards her. She unsheathed her knife and waited for it to come to her. She flicked the flame up on the lighter, and saw the thing in all its disgusting glory coming at her; a male, about six feet tall to her five feet two inches. Her heart thrummed and hammered in her chest like a frightened animal. She tensed into a high crouch, ready for it. When the thing was only about three feet away, she feinted to the left a step. It lunged, snarling like a rabid dog, and she jumped back to her right, kicking the thing's left foot out from under it and knocking it to the ground. She pounced on top of it, held it down with her arm across its chest, and stabbed her blade straight down into the forehead as hard as she could. The snarling and struggling stopped.

She rose, panting not with exertion but with adrenaline rush. Now for the hard part; she was always able to stab down with enough force to make it through the bone of the skull and into the brain, but pulling the blade back out took some serious effort. Setting her boot against the zombie's chest, she dried her sweaty palms on her jeans before gripping the handle and yanking hard. After a second of resistance, the blade came free and she steadied herself again. This had taken some practice- she used to pull it out successfully but the force of momentum would throw her backwards, knocking her off balance and landing her squarely on her ass. She had almost cut herself accidentally once, so she began bracing one leg behind her to take the excess force of the pull out of the equation.

She had come a long way from being the farm-girl from the outskirts of Marietta. Will had taught her a lot about camping efficiency- things like building a fire, finding and building shelter, and being resourceful, along with some rudimentary hunting skills. She had been tough enough, she supposed, but nowhere near as prepared as she had needed to be for this apocalyptic clusterfuck. Working as a registered nurse at Lane West Memorial Hospital had prepared her for death, but nothing like this. She had seen people die, but when the dead started to come back hungry for other living people, she had fled work and came straight home. That only saved her for a short while, however; she had thought living in the middle of nowhere would keep them safe, but it didn't last long.

_ Stop trying to think about that. The past is in the past, and every survivor left on this shit-hole has a story similar to or worse than yours. Just let it be. _That was Will again, and he sounded stern. Pushing the old days to the very farthest back corner of her mind, she raised her chin, straightened her spine, and focused on cleaning out the vehicles again.

As the sun began to rise over the horizon to the east, Henri's tattered boots seemed to echo with each thud against the pavement of I-20. She had been walking all night since her abrupt waking, around four hours. She was close to a little rural town called Aaronsville, according to the sign a mile back (AARONSVILLE, POPULATION 1,220), and she wanted to make it there by noon to see what it had to offer.

"Maybe I can find some new clothes, even," she said out loud. She knew she was whining. One of the more unpleasant after-effects of the Turn was the lack of sanitation supplies and lack of means to stay clean. It drove her absolutely insane. She worked at a hospital, for Christ's sakes, and all she ever did was wash and scrub her hands. She showered before AND after work. She was a clean, well-kept person with good grooming habits, and not being able to brush her teeth, shower, wear clean clothing, or put on deodorant made her wish that she had lost her sense of smell. Yuck.

_ Like anyone gives a shit what you smell like, Henri,_ Will scoffed in her head. _Besides, you see an abundance of people around? You're alone. What does it matter?_

"_I_ give a shit, Will," she snapped in a muttering voice. The 'You're alone' comment had stung more than she cared to admit, even if it was true. "I want a bath and some goddamn clean clothes. So shove it." She quickened her pace, trying to outrun Will's voice in her thoughts.

Aaronsville was tiny. The exit ramp that took her into the little town was cracked and patched, and the road leading into the heart of it had needed maintenance that it had clearly gone without for a long time even before the Turn. Potholes reached nearly all the way across the road in some sections, and weeds poked up and reached for the sky from the large cracks in the pavement. An ancient gas station sat silent and eerie on the west side of the main street. Across from it on the east side, a small City Hall with every window broken out. The door was missing. She felt a chill run up her spine as she walked as quietly as she could down the street. This felt like a ghost town from the Old West days or something.

Then again, wasn't every town a ghost town now?

Henri kept walking until the small businesses disappeared and she came to a residential area (probably THE residential area here). Her eyes searched out a decent-sized blue house with a chain-link fenced-in backyard. It appeared to have- was that...? Holy shit, was it?

Yes it was. The home had a well pump in the backyard close to a squat red well house. It was going to take a little work, but she was actually going to have a damn bath!

"Thank God," she sighed in relief, though she wasn't exactly sure if he was listening. She hopped the fence, checked the well pump to ensure that it worked properly, and headed to the back door of the house to run a check for the undead that might be lurking inside still. The back door was unlocked, so she let herself in, keeping her knife out and ready. After searching the entire house, she felt satisfied that no zombies were inside. Making her way back to the master bathroom, she put in the stopper for the tub and looked around for something to start carrying water in.

In the kitchen, she found a large, tall pot used for cooking stews and carried it out to the pump. "Here we go," she said, pressing down on the pump handle to release the chill water into the pot. A cold bath was better than no bath, she supposed. This was going to take awhile, so she got to work.

After 15 trips back and forth from the tub to the pump, she had what she felt was a satisfactory amount of water in the bathtub for a full-body bath. Finding what she needed in the collection of soaps, shampoos and conditioners, and unopened razor cartridges (whew), she climbed into the cold water and got to it, scrubbing herself head to toe, removing the dirt, grime, blood and sweat that had been sitting on her skin for the past two weeks. She leaned her head back and sighed with happiness as she washed her stiff, dirty hair. She scrubbed her scalp thoroughly to remove all of the grime, then washed it as well as she could; hot water was just a distant memory now, unfortunately. She would have killed for a hot shower. Well, killed an ACTUAL person, anyways. Zombies didn't really count anymore. She conditioned her now clean but pathetically tangled hair, rinsed it, and shaved the areas of her body that needed shaving before she climbed out and dried off on a fluffy green towel she had found in the cabinet in the hallway.

_ It __just __doesn't feel the same without the hot water,_ she lamented inwardly, and then immediately felt guilt flood her as she realized that at least she was still alive to enjoy a bath at all. Whatever, at least she was clean now. Time to try and find some clothing and grab what she could before getting the hell out of dodge. She grabbed her silver pendant from the bathroom counter and dropped the chain back over her head. Finished drying off, she tossed the towel on the floor and walked naked down the hallway to search for clothes.

In a bedroom down the hall, she found a teenage girl's room. Most likely a preteen; the Justin Beiber posters, Barbie vanity set and One Direction stickers all over everything from the bed to the nightstand was a pretty good indicator. These clothes not only wouldn't fit her, but weren't her style, so she moved back to the master bedroom to look for more womanly clothes. After all, she was 25, not 12. She began raiding the walk-in closet belonging to the home owners before the Turn. She checked sizes in jeans and shirts and saw that they were very close to her size. She was no lightweight before the Turn, holding her weight at around 145 to 150 pounds, but the months of starvation and constant physical activity had whittled her comfortable form into a slim, wiry version of itself. If she had to guess, she would say she had lost at least 30 pounds, probably more. The clothes here were a little big, but just enough to be a little loose, not hanging off.

She went with a pair of dark blue jeans, a stretchy gray tank top, and a light blue t-shirt that had a wolf on the front of it. She finished the outfit with a pair of thick gray socks (the thickness would come in handy with all the walking she had ahead) and a belt. After a moment of thought, she grabbed two more clean shirts, a pair of black leggings, and three pairs of socks to store in her pack. She re-fitted her knife sheath to the belt and headed back to the bathroom, looking around on the counter for a brush. She found a pick in a drawer and went to work on her tangled locks, trying to get the rat's nests out of her long-neglected mass of hair. As she looked in the mirror while working, Henri was dismayed to see how gaunt her face looked. Dark circles stood out in heavy bags under her eyes, a price paid for the night of no sleep. Her face was paler than usual, her freckles standing out starkly against the white skin. Her green eyes, normally snapping and alert, were weary, and shot through with red where the whites were. Her cheekbones and chin stood out sharply, the skin looking stretched. Her face looked hollow under the cheekbones, as if she were near death.

"Well I'm not," she spat at her reflection as she combed out her hair. "Not even fucking close." She yanked harder at the tangles, gritting her teeth.

After a good twenty minutes of effort, her hair was free of tangles and smooth, the wet tendrils brushing her forehead and neck as she searched the bathroom drawers for toothpaste. She had her own toothbrush that she carried in her pack, and usually toothpaste as well, but she had run out two days ago. She brushed her teeth every morning upon waking with bottled water, normally- furry teeth and bad breath were just gross.

_ Bingo!_ She came away from the top right drawer with a travel-size tube of Crest. It wouldn't last long, but the upside was that it was smaller so it would take up less space. Henri stalked through the house, taking a few items for herself here and there- a pack of hair ties, a small thermal blanket, a roll of wire from the garage, duct tape. Her favorite item was one that wasn't even hardly a damn bit useful, other than a little sustenance; she found a bag of half-melted Skittles shoved into the back corner of a drawer in the kitchen. Her favorite candy, hands down. She also had a weakness for Reese's peanut butter cups and for peanut M&M's, but the oppressive Georgia heat had melted those into liquid nastiness long ago. She tore open the bag with her teeth and shook a few into her mouth as she continued her inquest through the house. Her mouth watered as she chewed the delicious candy, and she again closed her eyes and thought: _Only a few things left in life to enjoy._ She was making a mental list of those that remained.

Henri was about to shoulder her pack and head out, but as she put her hand on the doorknob, an unconquerable wave of exhaustion washed over her. She was clean, she had eaten (kind of), and she had replenished her supplies, but she was still running on fumes. She knew it was dangerous to travel on little to no sleep; she had nearly been taken out by both people and the undead due to lack of alertness from fatigue before. _Also, random but true,_ Will whispered coaxingly in the back of her mind, _didn't you learn in nursing school that lack of sleep causes brain damage, memory loss, and decreased life span?_

"Will, you sound suspiciously like Mrs. Repogle from my mental health nursing class," she muttered sarcastically. "Guess you're right though- fuck the life span, I could give a shit how long I live most of the time... But my memories are too precious to lose." Talking herself into it, she walked resignedly back to the master bedroom, dropped her pack by the nightstand, and unceremoniously flopped face down onto the queen pillow-top bed, pulling a pillow over to her and the comforter over her. _Oh my God. This is definitely a thing left to enjoy in life... comfortable sleeping arrangements._ She shoved her arms under the pillow, still on her stomach, kicked one foot out from under the covers, and hiked her leg all the way up until it stretched away from her body almost at a right angle. She was squarely in the center of the bed, a thing she had always loved. _Some things never change, do they, Ettie?_ Will smirked in the back of her head.

"Shut up, Will. And you know I hate it when you call me that. I'm trying to sleep now." She closed her heavy-lidded eyes and drifted away, gone to the world.

BANG!

Henri's eyes flew open and she was on her feet in a low crouch next to the bed in seconds. Before the Turn, she was a lazy bitch when it came to waking up and getting out of bed, but now her reflexes had been honed by the constant danger and she was awake and assessing the situation in just seconds. Her knife was already out.

_What in the fuck was that?_

It sounded like a gun, that's what. She listened, not moving, not breathing, for any follow-up sounds. After a few moments, she heard what she had been dreading- a man's voice. One might not have worried her as much, but she heard another after that, and possibly another. Shit, there could be ten of them for all she knew. Her heart hammering in her chest, she exited the bedroom and edged to the window closest to the west side of the house, the side that faced the street with the front door. Peeking through the bottom of the blinds, as low to the floor as she could get, her wide eyes panned across the yard.

Nothing.

Had she gotten lucky? Did they walk on by? Maybe they weren't looting every house in the area...

She had brought her pack with her to the window, just in case it became necessary to make a run for it. Unzipping it, she pulled out the Beretta that Will had gotten her as a gift for her birthday two years ago, shouldering her pack again. It was loaded, as it always was. She checked just to make sure of how many rounds were there, thumbed off the safety, and then glanced out the window again.

The doorknob rattled. Henri froze. Her muscles were alive with electric fire, waiting to spring into action.

"'Ey, Joe," a gruff voice declared from the other side of the door. "This one's locked. Should I kick it in? Bust out the windows?"

Henri held her breath and pointed the gun at the doorway, to the right of the window she was crouched next to.

After a few moments, an authoritative voice replied "Nah. Don't make any more noise than ya have to; we don't know how many more of these things are around here, and we're low on ammo. We've got enough for now."

The man on the other side of the door grunted a response and moved away. Henri let out the breath she had been holding. Then she heard the man say, "I'ma check the back door, see if it's open real quick."

_ Shit shit shit shit shit shit!_ Henri ran as fast as she could in her low crouch to get to the back door. It wasn't that she thought it was unlocked, though a quick double-check never hurt; she had made quite a water mess in the yard when she carried the pot of water back and forth from the well to the house, and the grass was wet, as well as the light concrete back porch at the back door. There were dark water stains everywhere leading up to the door, and she was pretty sure someone would notice, since it was still daytime outside. She slammed against the wall next to the back door, waiting for the stranger to come around to the back of the house to investigate the lock. She saw his shadow fall across the grass before she saw him. Ducking down further, she kept her eyes welded to the tiny crack in the blinds. He came up in a quick, no-nonsense manner, and slowed a bit when he reached the porch, looking down at the ground. _Fuck! You and your ridiculous need to bathe, Henri! Look what it's gotten you into now! _Will's voice groaned.

Henri swallowed hard. The man had crouched down to look at the porch and the surrounding grass. He stood, still looking at the ground, and slowly walked the path she had repeatedly taken from the pump to the house and back, keeping slightly to the side with his head cocked. _Oh, fucking excellent. He's a tracker,_ Will's voice was small and afraid. _Henri, you have got to get out. Move. NOW. He already knows you're in here and he's coming back, trust me. _

She watched the man hover next to the well pump for a few moments, touching the newly wet faucet and inspecting the pump handle, then looking at the massive puddles of water she had left behind as horribly damning evidence of her presence. Why was she so stupid? Had she really thought that just because the little town was deserted, it would stay that way? It was right off the interstate, for Christ's sake! This was what happened when she was sleep-deprived. She made idiotic decisions, and now it was probably going to get her robbed and/or murdered. Maybe worse. Men living under the code of no existing law enforcement or repercussions for criminal activity often had the state of mind that they could take whatever they wanted, when they wanted it, regardless of who it belonged to or if they were told no. This seemed to include sexual activity; one of the reasons she avoided strangers altogether was because she had narrowly escaped an attempted rapist once before and didn't relish the thought of trying to outsmart another. And this group had at least three men belonging to it that she was aware of, not just one. Who knew what they were capable of?

_ Move, Henri,_ Will urged, sounding sickened. _Before it's too late! _

She saw that the man was heading back to the door, striding purposefully to the porch with a look of caution on his face, his eyes narrowed. _Fuck, time to go._ She moved away from the window lightning-fast, doubling back towards the front door. Once she reached it, she began to unlock it when she heard several more voices, all men, coming from either the front yard, the sidewalk or the street in front of the house. There was absolutely no way they wouldn't see her if she opened the front door now. She was trapped like a rat between the tracker and the group outside.

She spun around when she heard the back door rattling again, louder this time. The man didn't ask if anyone was inside; he knew. The door stopped rattling but she knew he was still there, most likely getting out a knife or something sharp and flat to jimmy the door open, since it was only a knob lock and not a bolt. Henri felt panic and fury rise up inside of her like an angry, burning wave, felt heat build up behind her eyes. She ran as quietly as she could back to the master bedroom, entered the closet again, and pushed her way into the hanging wall of clothing that had belonged to the lady of the house. She pointed her gun through the clothing between a glitzy black dress and a dark purple jumper, her eyes narrowed. Her hands were clammy. Her pack, laden with her recently found canned goods and water bottles and other supplies from the traffic tangle and the house, suddenly felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds on her back.

She waited, waited, waited. It seemed as if she had waited for hours.

Her arms and hands were tired and going numb from holding up the gun for so long; the adrenaline rush was wearing off. She had no idea how much sleep she had gotten earlier; it was earlier morning when she had laid down, and looked to be around 3 in the afternoon at this point. She still felt tired, but less so. She blew a wisp of hair out of her face. Her forehead was beaded with sweat. She started to lower the gun, thinking maybe the stranger had either not been able to successfully open the locked door or had just come in, taken a cursory took around the main area of the house, and left.

A telltale _creeeaaaak_ from the bedroom doorway said otherwise. She snapped the gun back up to its previous position, kicking herself for being foolish enough to think she might have gotten lucky this time. Though she heard nothing else, that creak told her more than enough- the intruder was still here and had just begun to search this part of the house. He was going to find her. The panic rose up like bile in her throat, choking her. From what she had seen, this guy was at least 6 feet tall, and while not a giant, he was formidable enough. She had no doubts that he could take her down, as cautious as he was and with weapons. _Well, you'll just have to be ready for him then,_ Will said flatly in her head. _No other options here, babe. You see this asshole's head, you take him down. _

_ But Will, _she thought back,_ what about the noise? This gun is loud as shit. If I shoot him, the others in his group will hear it and they will all be here in less than two minutes. Then I'll have a whole lot of trouble to deal with. I'll have to use my knife; I have no other choice._

Silently, as quickly as she could, she thumbed the safety on the Beretta and tucked it into the waste-band of her jeans. She quietly unsheathed her knife and switched it to a downward stabbing ready position, raised up next to her ear. _Come on, motherfucker. I'm waiting for you. _

She didn't hear so much as sense him; when he stood in the doorway of the master closet, the air became heavy with his presence. When she listened as intently as she could, she could hear his soft breathing, barely audible. He was trying hard not to be heard. She couldn't see him yet; the closet was dark, and though it was still daylight outside, he was back-lit through the doorway by the sunlight, and all she could make out of him was the hulking, menacing outline of his head and shoulders, and his arms raised in front of him, brandishing a weapon.

He seemed to scan the closet with his eyes, looking for any signs of movement. His head turned towards her and stopped.

Henri wanted to scream with fear. Had he seen her? He was just standing there like a creep, staring in her direction and holding totally still. After what seemed like forever, the guy lowered his weapon and turned away, walking quickly from the room. She heard his footsteps leading across the house to the back door, then heard the door shut firmly.

Then silence.

Henry collapsed onto the floor of the closet, her knees turned to water. She had never been so afraid of someone in her life, zombies included. It was only now that she realized how badly she needed to urinate. She was afraid to leave the safety of her hiding place too soon though; he could be lurking just outside, waiting for her to give up her position. If she didn't get out of here soon, she was going to pee her pants. She decided to give it ten minutes, then step out.

During that ten-minute wait, she listened and kept completely still, waiting for any noise that would alert her to a presence still being in the house. Satisfied that there was nothing to be afraid of anymore, she exited the closet slowly and rushed into the master bathroom to pee. It was another thing to add to her list, peeing after holding it for so long your bladder ached. Absolutely divine.

That accomplished, she headed decisively for the front of the house again, ready to check to make sure that group had moved on and then get the hell out of there. She had lingered for too long, and she knew she had been given a huge warning to leave. This place was too close to the interstate and there would be others eventually. Staying here wasn't an option, for any length of time.

_ At least I got a bath and some rest,_ she thought, searching for a silver lining. _Now if I can just get out of this place, I'll leave this damn town in the dust- _

A hard blow to the back of her head knocked her to the floor. She rolled over onto her back, gasping at the pain, and saw the man from the backyard looming over her as she blacked out.

Looking down at the unconscious woman on the floor, he wasn't sure what to do next. He wanted to tie her to a chair and throw a bucket of water at her face to wake her, and question her about what the hell she was doing hiding in here after leaving such an obvious trail that would lead someone to the house. Stupid move. Then again, she was all alone; people who were alone did stupid things. They forgot how close other people could be and didn't always cover their tracks.

He didn't want to admit it, but he felt bad for hitting her. He had taken her down with the butt of his revolver, trying not to hit her hard enough to draw blood but just enough to incapacitate her for a bit. She was so afraid, he could practically taste it when he stood in that closet doorway; he had sensed her in the house immediately when he jimmied the back door open and her presence pulled him from room to room like a psychic fingerprint. Searching each room, he knew which ones she wouldn't be in but could tell that she had been there. The bathroom was the most obvious; the bathtub was still wet with a cluster of soap bubbles over the drain, the room smelled of girly soap, and there was a wet towel on the floor. The rugs were damp and the drawers were all open. He had sensed her in the closet before he ever reached the doorway, and he could smell the fragrant strawberry shampoo she had used. He hadn't intended for the bedroom doorway to give him away with the creaking floor. Damn. She wasn't stupid, although she hadn't made the smartest moves that day; he knew she knew he was there. She knew that he knew she was there too, but for some reason had hoped he had moved on and taken her chances by ditching her hiding place and venturing out. He had known she would, so he pretended to leave and stayed quiet, waiting for her. He really hadn't wanted to knock her out, but he knew she had a gun and she had been walking through the house with a knife in her hand at the ready. It was a precaution, that was all. He had taken the liberty of relieving her of the gun and knife, taking her pack and searching her for other weapons before he moved away from her, grabbed a chair and sat in it backwards with the back between his knees and his chin propped up on his arms. He had been watching her for about twenty minutes, waiting for her to wake.

The thought crossed his mind that he should leave her there. Just leave her and get out of that house, rejoin the group that was still looting the other houses in the neighborhood. The only thing that stopped him was knowing that Joe would want to stay in this town and camp out in these houses for the night. This was what they did; if enough houses were available, each guy would clear one of supplies, claim that house, and make himself comfortable for the night. The next day, they'd all clear out. He knew if he didn't stay at this house, someone else would get curious and come looking in here to see what was left to find. This was a decent house- someone would claim it for the night if he didn't, and then what of the girl?

He knew. He felt like a bastard for knowing and still being a part of the group, but oh yeah, he knew. He had been lucky thus far- the group had just found him a few days ago and they hadn't run across anyone new since. But from listening to the others talk and watching them interact, he knew what would happen, and had happened before he had come along, if they came across a girl.

For the time being, he pushed the thought away. If it ever happened while he was with them, he would deal with it accordingly. For now, they were helping to protect him and he needed to stick with them.

_ Don't be such a pussy. You're the only one who gives a shit._

He wished that weren't true, but it was. He knew that he would be the only one in the group to speak out and protest the rape of a defenseless woman if he were ever confronted with it, and that he would most likely get himself killed or would have to somehow kill the other six guys in the group trying to stop it. Every day that they didn't run into another person was a relief for him; these were not good guys and he was well aware.

His eyes focused on the lady lying on the floor in front of him. She looked like a half-starved scarecrow body-wise; her cheeks were hollow and her collarbones stood out from her chest like door handles. Her legs were very thin, and lying on her back, he could see her ribs outlined through her shirt. He didn't quite understand why she looked so emaciated- when he searched through her bag, he found lots of food supplies, which should indicate that she was eating. But, who knew- maybe she had been looking for food for a week and had just happened upon this place and stocked up her food stores today. Whatever the case, he was pretty sure that she was eating at least enough to generate some muscle and keep it on; her arms, while very thin, were lightly muscled and capable, and he could see that her legs were also fairly built. She had clearly been on the road for a long time.

Rubbing his hand across his chin, he sat deep in thought. She wasn't gonna be anything but trouble for him if he tried to help her, he knew. The guys would never let him leave the group without an explanation of some sort- he had proven to be a superior tracker and hunter and they knew he was an asset. He wouldn't be able to hang back for a day or two and try to- to what? He didn't know. He wanted to help her somehow; something in her relaxed face and the clues he had picked up from tracking her through the yard and house had made him feel as if he could relate to her somehow.

_ You're a goddamn dumbass, is all that means,_ he thought, rejecting that idea. _Everyone you try to help ends up dead. That ain't help in anyone's language._

He stood up from the chair, unwinding his long legs from it, and stood over the woman, looking her over. She wasn't hard to look at, even being skinny as she was. She had chaotic red hair that curled, waved, and frizzed down nearly to her elbows. He hadn't gotten close enough to her with her eyes open yet to see what color they were, but her skin was ivory and unmarked everywhere that he could see except for the scatter of freckles across her face. Her nose was small and snub-looking, like a mean rich girl (he could only assume that was a memory from his short high school career). She was short and thin but looked tough; he wondered what she had looked like before all hell had broken loose.

He noticed during his scrutiny that her shirt and tank top had ridden up when she fell to the floor and her belly was showing a bit over her jeans. He thought he saw... was that a scar? A pretty good-sized one, it appeared, and down fairly low on her abdomen. Around her neck was a silver pendant on a chain, but he couldn't tell what was on it. He leaned down closer for a better look, reaching out to hold it in his fingers for a better examination. It appeared to be more than a pendant; it was a locket of some sort. He started to press the clasp to open it and sensed that she was awake. Her eyes flew open and she kicked out at him, connecting with air as he had already moved away from her. She rolled onto her stomach and was instantly on her feet, glaring at him. In the time it had taken her to stand, he had already found his weapon and pointed it at her head, his eyes narrowed and unblinking, staring at her intently.

_ Great start to the conversation there, dumbass,_ he thought dryly, feeling disappointment take root in him a bit. _She'll never wanna listen to a damn word you have to say now. You've already knocked her ass out, and now she wakes up to you lurking overhead like a creep, touching her necklace. At least try to say something instead of just aiming that thing at her head like an asshole._

The woman was glaring ferociously at him, and damn, if looks could kill. She had retreated after the missed kick and was standing backed against the west wall of the house, looking as if she felt naked without her weapons. Her hands hovered over her hips like a gunfighter, and he knew she was itching to have them on her missing knife so she could cut his heart out.

Inappropriate as it was at the time, he couldn't NOT notice how pretty she was. _Her eyes are green,_ he thought. Then, irritably: _Why in the blue fuck does that matter? You won't see her again after tonight. Get to talkin'. _

"Did ya have a nice nap?" He asked tauntingly, not knowing why he said it.

She bared her small white teeth at him and hissed, "Fuck you, asshat. What do you want from me? You hit me over the head and now you're pointing that goddamn thing at me like I'm your prisoner. I was getting ready to leave this place and you took me down for no reason. You better tell me what it is you want before I claw your damn eyes out." Despite the hard edge to her her voice and the hatred that blazed out at him from her fiery green eyes, he could see the fear that hid just behind that tough facade. Although, he had no doubts that she WOULD claw his eyes out, if given the chance. He had pushed her beyond her breaking point and she was like a terrified, cornered animal.

He decided he had pushed her far enough and it was time to wave a white flag. If he didn't, she would most likely end up trying to kill him or run, no matter what he said or did.

He lowered his crossbow.

"Get your panties out of a bunch, princess," he said, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "I had to knock you out, you would've stabbed or shot me if I'd surprised you. I don't mean you no harm. Name's Daryl Dixon. What's yours?"


	2. Chapter 2: Sons of Plunder

Chapter 2: Sons of Plunder

"Asshat. I like it. Think I'll go by that from here on out," he said lightly, trying to ease the woman's tension. She still hadn't given him her name, and she was watching him the way an injured rabbit watches a wolf.

There was fear, but the anger was still there too, her eyes snapping and sparking like she wished she could tear him apart. She was fierce. What the hell was he doing? He should let her be. She didn't need his help.

_Except you know she probably does,_ he thought grimly. _And you can't leave this house with her in here. It's a matter of time before the rest of them start snoopin' around here, looking to see what you got. They'll destroy her. _

He decided to take a gamble and tell her exactly what was going on. "Alright look lady, you wanna know what's goin' on? I know you heard them other people outside, right? There's six more guys, and they ain't nice. Not to people like you, they won't be. They come in here and find you, you don't wanna know what would happen."

He saw her blanch at this information, her eyes dulling to a more fearful, less angry sheen. He felt bad for being the cause of it, but she needed the truth if he expected to get anywhere with her now. She still didn't relax her tense, coiled posture. He knew what she would say before she asked.

"Then why the hell should I trust you?" she flung at him, her voice sharp. "You've already hurt me and trapped me in here, taken my weapons and supplies. You're no better than those degenerates outside. And why are you with them, if you're such a good Samaritan?"

It was a legitimate question, he knew. He didn't really know himself, only that they were a means to an end. They kept him from being alone and trying to survive for the moment, even though he knew he didn't really need them. There was safety in numbers, even if the numbers were less than desirable types. "I was alone when they found me," he explained shortly. "I was in trouble. That was a few days ago. I'm new to their group."

"What do you mean, in trouble?" She narrowed her eyes again.

"Lost the person I was with. They were taken by someone." He didn't offer any more information on that subject. He knew he wouldn't, either. It was locked up tight.

Once she realized he wasn't going to, she moved on to the next thing on her mind. "Why are you all still here? I was just packing up some supplies and heading out. I can still hear them occasionally outside. What's going on?" Her eyes held his, demanding truth.

"We're looting and crashing," he explained. "Been on the road for a night and a day. Group finds a neighborhood, loots it, and if there's enough open houses, each man claims a house and sleeps there for the night. It's your lucky day, girl- if there's only one good house, everyone crashes in it. There's a whole street filled with them here."

She stayed silent for a moment, taking in what he had just revealed to her. She still looked pissed and suspicious, and he didn't blame her.

"Look," he said as softly as he could muster, "I only took your weapons and supplies away as a precaution. Figured when you woke up you'd wanna try and kill me, which you do, so I took 'em. Just wanted to check your bag for more weapons, which you have." He didn't want to say that he had been checking to see how much food she had so that he could help her if she was low on rations. She would never believe it.

She glowered at him, folding her arms across her chest. "You could have just tried talking to me."

But he could see from the wavering hostility on her face that even she knew that was utter bullshit. Had he spoken one word to her, had she seen him at all, he would have been trying to dodge a round from the Beretta she had stuffed down the front of her pants. If he had just grabbed her, she had the knife in her hand and would have tried to gut him like a pig.

He smirked at her. "Yeah, right."

"So what do you plan to do? Why are you keeping me here? Because it's kind of creeping me out, I gotta be honest. I get that the guys out there are dangerous, but can't I just... I don't know, sneak out?" Her voice had a hint of desperation in it. She was still scared, and had a right to be.

"I wouldn't recommend trying it," he warned, his face solemn again. "Len out there is a tracker too, and probably keeping an eye on things outside. He's the worst one. Just stay here for the time being, and I'll stay here so one else'll come in here."

"Well, that's fucking fantastic. So I'm just supposed to stay here all damn night and hope that you are the good guy you claim to be? Just trust you?" She stared hard at him.

"I never said I was a good guy." He said flatly.

"Then why are you doing this?"

"You don't have to be a good guy to despise rapists and murderers. That's something everyone hates. Just trying to prevent another one, that's all." He stared coolly at her, letting her take that in.

Her mouth dropped open. "You mean... They... They've done that in front of you? You saw it happen?" She was shrinking away from him again, horrified.

"No. Haven't been around for it yet, but I heard 'em talkin' about it a few times now. Heard more than I cared to, and enough to know what's waiting for you outside if you don't listen to me." He was watching her, taking in her reaction, hoping maybe he had gotten through to her.

She was quiet for a long time, glancing towards the front window. Before she could give him a reply, a loud banging on the front door of the house made them both jump. A deep voice yelled through the door: "Daryl! You in there? We're done lookin', you gonna pick a place or what? If you ain't, let the rest of us in to have a look around."

The girl was already in a low crouch in the corner of the front room where they had been talking. "What the hell?" she hissed at Daryl, her hand automatically going to her belt where her knife no longer was. "What do we do? They wanna come in and look. They'll find me no matter where I hide... Just let me go, damn you!" She spat the last sentence at him. "I can sneak out the back door-"

He brought a finger to his lips in a _shhh_ gesture. Holding a hand out to her indicating to stay put, he unlocked the bolt and swung the front door wide open. "The fuck, Tony?" he growled at the man on the other side of the door, a dark-complected guy with a bandanna. "Can't a guy shit in peace?"

"Man, you been in there a long fuckin' time. My bad. So what's your take? What'd you find?" Tony tried to walk into the house, craning his neck to try and see around the doorway. Daryl held his ground with one hand braced firmly on each side of the door to block Tony's entrance.

"No way, this place is mine. Nothin' here for you to take, and I'm crashin' here tonight," Daryl said firmly. "Now, I'm gonna try and get some sleep, so y'all leave me the hell alone." He leaned further out of the doorway and raised his voice, yelling "Claimed!" so that everyone heard him. He heard a few mutters in response, then he shut the door in Tony's indignant face.

He turned his attention back to the girl in the corner. "Taken care of. They won't be coming in here at all now," he said smugly. "Told ya I had it figured out."

"Oh, well forgive me for not trusting the dude who whacked me over the head, took all my shit, and is holding me here like a warden," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Not to mention hangs out with people that HE doesn't even trust. I was wrong to misjudge you, obviously." She rolled her green eyes at him and rose up from her crouched position on the floor. "So, what now? We just stay here all night and wait till they're ready to leave in the morning, you leave with them, and then I leave after you all are gone?"

"Hey, look at that. You're catchin' on." He slid the bolt back and locked the knob on the front door before turning and heading into the kitchen. Opening the cabinet under the sink, he pulled out her pack and her weapons, laying them on the counter. He walked back to the dining room, sat down in a chair, and propped his feet up on the table, watching her.

Henri was too surprised to move for a moment. Then, snapping out of it, she stalked across the front room to the kitchen bar where her weapons and pack waited, re-sheathing her knife and checking the Beretta again. She left the pack where it was for the time being. She hadn't turned her back on the guy at the table once yet. "So, dude," she began in an impatient voice.

"Daryl."

"Okay. Daryl. You're just giving me back my stuff now? Not that I'm complaining, because I want it, but what was the point of clocking me and keeping it all away from me and then just handing it over?" She put a hand to the back of her head and winced at the bump she found, which prompted a scowl in his direction. _What a dick,_ she fumed inwardly. _Even if he IS trying to help me, still a dick move._ Her head pounded and throbbed at the base of her skull and the pain seemed to stretch clutching, digging claws out, spanning her entire head from the back of her neck to her forehead and just behind her eyes. She rubbed her forehead and allowed herself to close her eyes for a moment.

Her eyes snapped open again when she heard his chair scrape the floor and realized he had moved. The sudden movement of her eyes sent another fresh bolt of pain shooting through her skull. "Fuck," she groaned in a subdued voice, clutching her head in her hands.

When Henri looked up, he was standing in front of her with a bottle of aspirin and a bottle of water, presumably retrieved from his supplies. "Here. Take these. And I gave your shit back 'cause you seem calm now."

She looked at him full in the face and gave him a once-over for the first time, and not with fury but trying to size him up. He was around 6 feet tall as she had first guessed when she saw him in the yard, his frame wiry and tough. His arms were toned, the biceps and triceps standing out noticeably. He looked rough, his clothing dirty and tattered. Over his shirt he wore a black leather vest that she had seen MC members wear before, though rather than a name all she had noticed were the angel wings on the back. _Ironic, considering how he acts and who he keeps company with,_ Will spoke up. He had been remarkably silent so far during the exchange between the stranger and herself.

Ignoring Will for the moment, she at last met the man's eyes and what she saw there at last convinced her that he wasn't going to murder her and wear her skin around like Buffalo Bill. His face was weathered and careworn, his hair long and in desperate need of a cut. His eyes were the type that always appeared to squint slightly, though it wasn't a bad look for him. Their color was a sea-blue, and they were clear and calculating. Henri's mother, rest her soul, had once told her that damaged people could instantly recognize other damaged people. "Something in the eyes," her mom had said. "There's a psychic link, a bond when a damaged person's eyes meet another's. It's like their souls are reaching out and holding hands, though they haven't yet physically touched."

This was the sensation she felt as she met the man's eyes. He saw her broken soul and she saw his, and they gave each other a mutual nod. _You're fucked up like me,_ she thought, cocking her head and feeling the last of her anger slip away. _Maybe not in exactly the same way, but you're still one messed-up puppy._

"Thanks for the aspirin," she said finally, "Daryl." She shook out four of them, though she knew it was too many, and gulped them down with the water he had brought for her. "I guess I forgive you for bashing me over the head. I get why you had to do it. Doesn't change the fact that it hurts like a bastard." She stuck her tongue out at him, still miserable.

Amused, she saw the corner of his mouth twitch up for a moment. "Sorry 'bout that. The pills will help. You need to lie down? It's safe for ya to, if you need to. I'll be out here." His eyebrows were raised.

_Don't you dare, Henri,_ Will said. _You just met this guy. I don't care how much he seems like he's just a good guy trying to help, you don't know anything about him. You know it isn't safe to sleep in this house while he's around. _Annoyed because she DID know and didn't need Will nagging her about it, she gave Daryl a tight-lipped smile and said, "Thanks but no thanks. I got a pretty good amount of sleep here earlier today before your group showed up, not including the little nap I took in the floor courtesy of your gun." She wasn't going to let it go just yet. Her head was still throbbing and it was putting her in a foul mood.

He nodded and sat back down in the chair, still looking at her. "Where you from?" He asked.

She didn't see the harm in him knowing, she was never going back home. "Marietta, on paper. In reality, a little farm about 10 miles outside the city. Twelve acres, barbed wire fences, big red barn, old farmhouse, the whole shebang." Henri felt like she had said too much. Her mouth snapped shut quickly.

"Huh. Sounds like a fair setup. Why'd you leave?" He was watching her face too closely, and she knew he was carefully gauging her reaction.

She tried not to bristle. "I stayed there for awhile, but eventually it got overrun. Had no choice but to move on." She kept her voice flat and her eyes unfocused as she told this colossal lie.

"That's it?" He was looking hard at her. It made her uncomfortable.

"That's all you need to know, buddy."

He looked amused again but curious. Dropping it and changing tactics, he tried a different approach. "What's your name? I didn't catch it earlier."

"That's because I didn't give it." She didn't want to tell him her name but knew she was being juvenile; what did it matter now, in the grand scheme of things? It didn't. She sighed with resignation. "My name's Henrietta Lawson. You can call me Henri."

His mouth quirked up at the corner again. "Henrietta? Not to make fun, but it's such an old-fashioned name and you're so young. Where'd it come from?"

She rolled her eyes and told him what she'd told other people a hundred times. "It's a family name. My great-grandmother's name was Henrietta Laurel. She's my namesake."

"She still alive?" Daryl sounded surprised.

"No," Henri said in a soft voice. "She passed away a few years ago at the age of 84. My great-gramps followed pretty soon after." She paused for a moment before continuing, "I have no family left. They're all dead."

His expression didn't change, but his voice was less gruff when he said, "Mine too."

Daryl wasn't sure what to make of the girl. At times when they talked, she would appear to be annoyed with something someone was saying to her, as if there were a conversation going on that only she could hear. Then her face would smooth back over and she would interact with him normally again. It was a little odd, but he could tell she had been on her own for awhile. Even he had begun talking to himself when he was alone for too long. She was something else, that was for sure. When she had actually stopped to appraise him and look at his face, he had felt some strange sensation come over him; almost as if he knew her already, though he knew they had never met before in this life. It was similar to the magnetic pull her presence had had on him when he first entered the house, only he knew she recognized it too when they were looking at each other. Whatever it was, it was powerful.

In the time they had been talking, he had realized something else: he didn't want to leave her behind tomorrow. He wanted to spend a little more time around her, get to know her. _I don't buy that bullshit, quick story about what happened to her home. Somethin' else is going on with that and I wanna know. _He wasn't about to tell her his thoughts though; that wasn't the way he did things.

They had lapsed into a comfortable silence, and he watched her looking out the window, the setting sun shining a radiant orange through the blinds, laying reddish-gold bands across her face and neck. Where they touched her hair, the strands seemed to be lit up with a formidable flame, blazing out and framing her face, her green eyes looking even more luminous in the waning light. To him, she looked comparable to some sprite or angelic spirit, only here for a short while before she would disappear before his eyes, never to be seen again.

"Don't go with them tomorrow," she said suddenly, in a voice so low and urgent he wasn't sure he had heard her correctly. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest. "You know you don't have to go."

"What you think I oughtta do then, princess?" He said harshly, more caught off-guard by what she had said than he could compensate for. "Just stay here? They ain't gonna let me just walk away. And they'll wanna come in here and look around too, if I say I wanna split. That ain't good for nobody." _Especially not for you,_ he thought darkly.

She looked exasperated by his pessimism. "Look, I'm not suggesting you stay with me. I do better on my own, not in a group. But these guys are bad news, from what you've told me about them; you're not like them. You should leave before they hurt someone and you're caught up in it." She walked across the front room to the kitchen bar to rummage through her pack. "And stop calling me princess."

Daryl smirked at her and said, "Whatever you say. Seems fittin' for ya." _Maybe if I piss her off enough, she won't care what I do after tonight. _

She had come away from her search with a crushed pack of Camels, which he had found when he confiscated her stuff. He had wanted one but didn't take them; they were hers. She stuck one between her lips and struck the lighter to it, inhaling deeply and swinging the cigarette down and away from her mouth, clutched between her forefinger and thumb. She saw him staring and offered him the open pack. "Want one?"

He nodded and took one. She lit it for him and they were both quiet for a few moments, thinking. She blew out smoke and asked, "So what makes you think they won't wanna look in here tomorrow morning? Before you all leave?"

He shrugged and took another long drag. "I'd say as long as nothin's outta the ordinary, they'll ignore it. They'll assume I got all that's worth gettin' in here and say screw it." Small puffs of smoke escaped his nostrils and mouth as he spoke. "But if I tell 'em I'm out as soon as I leave this house tomorrow mornin', it'll draw attention over here. They'll search it, trust me."

_Trust_ _me._ That was asking an awful lot out of anyone these days, especially from someone you had just recently knocked out. He'd have to hope she would take his word for it.

"I'm trying to," she said warily. "I want to. Trust you, I mean. It's just that I'm concerned. For me... _and_ for you." She brushed her hair out of her eyes and took another drag of her cigarette. Her eyes were fixed firmly on the window, studiously avoiding his gaze.

_Wow, it looked like THAT was tough to say,_ he thought in amusement. _She's as stubborn as I am, maybe more. _Blowing smoke slowly from his nostrils, he kept staring at her, hoping she would break her ninja-like focus on the damn window and look his direction. She didn't.

Clearing his throat, he said, "So. You decide to believe me yet? Gonna stay here and not take off outta the house?"

"I told you I did. I'm still here, aren't I?" She was annoyed. She turned at last to glare at him.

"Yep, you said that. I think you're still plottin' in that head of yours though."

Whirling from the window in disgust, her hair flying, she stomped to the kitchen table and stubbed out her cigarette on it. "What the hell are you even talking about? You don't know me. You don't know me at all. I'm not plotting shit. Just thinking. So go screw yourself." With that last flung over her shoulder vehemently, she took off down the hall to the master bedroom and slammed the door.

Looking down the hall after her with a muffled grin on his face, Daryl shook his head slowly and let a low whistle. _And I thought Beth was a handful,_ he thought as he chuckled quietly to himself. Then as that thought sunk in, the grin faded from his face and he stared at the floor. He couldn't stop wondering what had happened to her, what _was_ happening to her. It was a torture he wished he could be released from by at least finding her somewhere, either dead or alive (_please not dead_). It was his fault, all his fault. _Should've never taken us there. Should've never trusted that damn place. Too clean, too perfect. Should've known, and now she's gone. _

He remembered the fight they'd had in the yard of that abandoned shithole where they found the still and the shine, the day Beth had let him know in her piping voice that she had wanted a drink. A real one, because she was grown and her dad wasn't around anymore to stop her. How he'd felt more and more pissed off at her the faster the shine worked on him, playing her stupid little drinking game. All it had done was highlight the differences between them and their upbringings (if you could call it that, what life with his old man had been like), and though she had started the game innocently, he had turned it into a pissing contest because he had needed to. He had _needed_ to be a bastard to her, to tear her down and make her feel low. Because that was how he felt, ever since the prison fell- low. He could have done more, he knew he could have. He could have helped Michonne go out on searches for the Governor, instead of giving her shit about it and making her feel like she was beating a dead horse looking for him still. He could have tried to get closer to the bastard when they had come up to the gates, stopped him from executing Hershel right in front of his daughters. He could have gotten close to the tank somehow before it rolled over the fences like they were nothing, blown it up before any damage was done. Hell, if he had done just one thing differently, they might all still be living comfortably at the prison. Everything Rick and the others had worked for, the safety, the crops, the water supply, the living comforts, all could still be a reality. Rick, Carl, Glenn, Maggie, Beth, Carol, Michonne... Hershel. All the kids, and little Asskicker. They had all thought he was such an irreplaceable asset to the group, and had made him a part of the family. They all had depended on him.

He had let everyone down.

Tenting his fingers and resting his chin on them, he furrowed his brow and wondered if he would ever see any of the group again. Carol and Rick were his closest friends before the prison went down, followed closely by Michonne. He had never been especially close to Beth before the fall, but once it was just them against everything, he had really started to see what a special girl she was. She was selfless, and sweet, and thoughtful. She wouldn't back off when he was a dick; it only seemed to make her want to dig under his shell more. She had always done a great job taking care of Judith for Rick. She adored Glenn and Maggie. Just an all-around good kid.

And he would never admit it, but he had liked to hear her sing.

All of the events of the last few weeks came crashing down on his shoulders at once as he sat utterly still. _You ain't no good for nobody, baby brother,_ he heard Merle echo in his head, just like the old days. _Ain't nobody ever gonna give a damn about you but me._ The son of a bitch was mean, and he had been wrong about that; plenty of people had given a damn about him. But about Daryl not being good for anybody, he was dead right. He missed his brother still, even with how badly Merle had treated him. He had forgiven Merle for leaving him alone with their bastard old man, who switched from using Merle as his punching back to focusing on Daryl. He would have forgiven that asshole anything, because that was what family did. And after Merle was gone, he had his surrogate family at the prison to lean on... But now they were all gone too. He had grown to accept it; he would always end up alone. All he did was hurt people who cared too much about him.

_Maybe I deserve to be alone, _he thought darkly.

The black hole of his torturous thoughts pulled him in, deeper and deeper he fell. Faces and images ran together in his head: _Rick, rocking Judy to sleep... Carol, telling him he was going to have to get used to being loved by people at the prison... Maggie and Glenn, the looks of shock on their faces as they realized Daryl was going to leave with Merle before the first attack on the prison... Merle yelling at him in the woods... Carl, wanting to fire at the Governor before Hershel was killed... Michonne, talking about looking for the Governor with him... Wanting to pound Bob's face to a pulp when he realized what was really in his bag on the medicine run... Beth, singing to Judith... Beth hugging him as he finally broke down... Beth drunk off shine, her face flushed red with the alcohol's effects when she declared, "You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon."_ And he did.

God help him, he did.

He couldn't help but keep replaying the harsh shit he had said to her that day at the abandoned still house. _"I never uh... never eaten frozen yogurt. Never had a pet pony. Never got nothin' from Santa Claus! Never relied on anyone for protection before... You know, I don't think I've ever relied on anyone for anything! Never sung out in front of a big group out in public like everything was fun, like everything was a big game... I sure as hell never cut my wrists lookin' for attention!"_ He had just kept spewing hurtful words at her, because she was an easy target. Dragged her outside to _"teach her to shoot a crossbow," ("C'mere, Greene")_ and then tried to tear her down even more so that she would feel as shitty as he did.

When she accused him of acting like he didn't give a shit about anyone they lost at the prison, then said he was afraid and brought up Sophia coming out of the barn at the farm, he had wanted to throw something. He had sneered at her going out looking for booze when her entire family might be dead, and when she had protested he had shouted,_ "Might as well be 'cause you ain't never gonna see 'em again!"_ Glaring at her and not caring that she was crying, he had kept on. _"Rick? You ain't never gonna see Maggie again,"_ and she had still been there to hold it together when he had broken down. The guilt, the sadness, all of it had been eating him alive. Beth had seen him cry, something no one had seen since he was a damn kid. He had been vulnerable and had wanted to shake her off of him when she hugged him, but hadn't had the strength left to fight her off. He had shown weakness, but at least he had her; he wasn't alone. Someone understood him.

Then she was just gone.

His own words echoed treacherously back to him as he sat slumped in the chair with his head in his hands: _"You ain't never gonna see her again."_

Despite what she had told Daryl, Henri had fallen asleep again in the master bedroom. Once she had realized he wasn't going to come after her, she knew it was safe to lie down. Her head pain had slowed to a dull, unpleasant thudding in her skull, but she knew she needed to lie down or she would never be up to leaving in the morning. And her goal was to get as far away as humanly possible from this place tomorrow, as early as she could. She huffed, still pissed at the asshole in the front room, and flopped back onto the bed. Surprisingly, it didn't take her long to crash.

She awoke groggily sometime in the middle of the night, not sure at first where she was or how much time had elapsed. As her senses came back slowly, she remembered that it had been around sunset when she had passed out in here, and now it was completely dark. Even groggy, she felt as if she had been sleeping for a long time. She guessed it might be anywhere between 11 at night and 2 in the morning. Sliding off the bed and onto her feet, she got her bearings in the pitch darkness and began to move towards the door. She quietly opened it, making her way down the hallway silently.

_What do you think you're doing, Henri?_ Will demanded. She ignored him.

Once in the front room, she saw that Daryl had fallen asleep on the couch, stretched out on his back with his feet crossed and his arms behind his head. His crossbow sat at the ready on the floor within arm's reach of him. Moonlight streamed through the front windows and splashed onto the hardwood floor, an eerie specter in the total silence. Thankful that he had fallen asleep, she began gathering up her things from the bar.

She ran a quick checklist: Knife, check. Beretta, check. Pack with all supplies inside (including her smokes), check. Thinking of her smokes gave her pause. She dug back into her pack and took out two cigarettes, leaving them on the table next to Daryl's revolver. _It's the least I can do for him, the guy was trying to help me. Goodbye, Daryl,_ she thought, a strange feeling of sadness coming over her. _I just can't risk staying here and being discovered, or getting you in trouble. Maybe someday we'll run into each other again. _

She gazed at him for a few moments longer, then glided to the back door, unlocked the knob, and quietly slipped outside. She was banking on the probability that all of these assholes were asleep by now.

Out in the chill night air, she took a deep, heady breath of fresh air. These vacant houses always smelled of dust and disuse or death, and she hated it. The air revitalized her. She hitched up her pack on her shoulders a little and looked around at the surrounding yards, suddenly remembering that there was a group of nasty individuals around to watch out for. She scanned the rooftops, the yards, the edges of the houses on either side. The moonlight only offered limited visibility, but she detected no movement. After a long pause, she began walking north through the yards, heading back to I-20 to continue her trip west.

Henri had made it to the end of the next yard when someone grabbed her from behind by her pack and slammed her into the back of the house, pinning his arm against her throat and cutting off her air as he leered into her face. She felt a knife against her ribs and stopped struggling. There were two of them, one standing back and looking at her with interest and the other who was attacking her.

The one standing back said, "Ya see, Len, I told ya the guy was hiding something. Wouldn't even let me peek in the front door. Here it is." The spectator grinned, a grotesque sight in the pale moonlight.

"You did say that, Tony," the creep panted in her face, his hot breath hitting her cheek. "He's just gonna have to share with the rest of us, the hoarding asshole. Gotta tell Joe about this." His black eyes bored into hers, and Henri felt numb with fear. How could she have even attempted this? "But for now, you're gonna show us a good time, bitch. A hell of a good time."


	3. Chapter 3: Only

Chapter 3: Only

A nightmare. This was a nightmare.

Henri was frozen, pressed against the back of the neighboring house by Len, some psychotic pervert who was choking her with his forearm and breathing his rancid breath into her face. She felt a wave of nausea wash over her. _Henri, your knife. You still have it, get it!_ Will shouted at her.

Trying to slide her hand down to her belt, she felt her attacker's knife dig deeper into her ribs, drawing a choked cry from her. She was pretty sure that stick had just drawn blood. He roughly shoved her hand away and snatched the knife from her belt.

"Uh-uh, girly," he laughed into her face, tossing the knife to the ground behind him. "Nice try. There's two of us, so you may as well just take what you got comin' to you. Tony, hold her arms."

He took the knife out of her ribs and shoved her towards Tony, who stripped her pack off her shoulders and tossed it aside. She felt light-headed for a moment and almost fell, but Tony hauled her up under her arms in a full nelson and held her there, pushing down viciously on the back of her neck. "Let me go!" She tried to scream, but her current position caused it to come out as little more than a plaintive cry. She struggled weakly, unable to move much, and then Tony pushed down harder on her neck and pain exploded behind her eyes and up and down the cords in her neck like a bomb. She hung limply and gave up for the moment.

_You stupid, stupid idiot,_ she admonished herself in despair. _You should have just stayed put. You should have listened to him. Now you're alone, unprotected, and these animals are going to make you wish you were dead long, long before they finally take your life. _

"Daryl let you go, bitch?" Len asked her, bending at the waist to leer up into her face. "Or did you kill him and take off?"

She didn't respond. Her pained respiration was the only sound in the night air.

_CRACK!_ Blood flooded Henri's mouth and her head whipped to the side what little bit it could in the hold as Len backhanded her across the right side of her face. Henri gritted her teeth and almost fainted as black spots danced in front of her eyes; then she realized that being unconscious might not be the worst thing that could happen to her at this point, and began to fervently wish for it. No such luck; the black spots cleared away and Len was still snarling in her face.

"I asked you a fucking question. Did he let you go?" His voice was low and sinister. She could have just said no, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of responding to his abuse. She glowered up at him through her disheveled hair, defiant.

The air was pounded out of her lungs in an instant as Len delivered a brutal right punch to her stomach. She would have doubled over if not for Tony's firm hold on her. The world went black as she struggled valiantly to get a breath. After a few moments, she was able to get air again and she sipped tiny, excruciating breaths of oxygen in before leveling her gaze at Len again.

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you... S-stop hitting me p-please," she moaned, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Len grinned, a sickening sight. "That's a good bitch. You ready to answer me now?" The arrogance in his voice was unreal.

Henri choked out a whispered reply, hanging her head. She waited.

Len grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her head up, drawing a little shriek of pain from her. "What was that?" He said loudly in her face, leaning as close as he could to hear her.

Henri swirled the blood around in her mouth from the first hit, brought her face up level with his, and spit a mouthful of bloody fluid right into his face. "That's your answer, motherfucker," she croaked, closing her eyes and slumping over again.

Len recoiled, wiped the blood off of his face with the back of his arm, and hit her in the face with a right cross. Henri screamed in pain as it felt like her left cheekbone exploded under the devastating blow. She felt hot wetness under her eye and knew that her face was cut, but didn't care. What did it matter now? She was dead anyways.

"You stupid little whore," he seethed out from between gritted teeth. "You're gonna be begging for the end by the time I'm done with you. Tony, lift her up. Time to get this party started."

Tony hauled her up and relaxed his hold on her neck slightly, letting Henri's head loll back. "She's a redhead, Len," Tony said with a dark fascination apparent in his tone. "When's the last time we seen one of them? They're probably almost extinct. She's like a fuckin' unicorn." Tony pushed his face into her hair and sniffed deeply, letting out his breath in her ear. "She smells fuckin' good, too. Hurry up, I want my turn."

The words were barely out of Tony's mouth when Henri catapulted her body backwards as hard as she could. Tony, caught off-guard by her sudden assault, let go, stumbled back, and fell as the back of Henri's head collided with the bridge of his nose. Feeling the iron grip on her release, Henri ducked under Len's grab for her and took off like the hounds of hell themselves were on her heels.

She could hear Tony screeching: "My nose, my fuckin' nose, that bitch broke my goddamn nose" and Len shouting and swearing as he pursued her across the yard, right behind her. Henri dug in her heels and ran harder, then felt something crushingly heavy land on her back and take her down hard on the wet grass. The bastard had jumped and tackled her to the ground. The wind knocked out of her for a second time, she rolled over onto her back and sucked in air again, seeing Len kneeling over her, his face black with rage. He stood and kicked her viciously in the ribs, once, twice, three times, drawing screams of agony from her as she felt them crack and break. She held up her hands helplessly, crying "Please stop" as she prayed for mercy from this soulless, brutal monster.

"'Please, please, please,'" Len mimicked in a voice dripping with venom, hauling her up by her hair again. "Know how many times we've heard that since this shitstorm started? More than I can count, bitch. We're gonna fuck you every which way, all of us, then stick a knife in your gut and let you bleed out. It's what we do for fun when we're bored." He said this last brightly, as if thinking of the act had put him in a good mood. "And you've pissed us off enough, we're gonna make it so much worse on you than the others had it. You brought it on yourself."

Dragging her by her hair and one arm back to where Tony was nursing his bleeding nose, Len snarled, "Now HOLD this crazy bitch, and this time don't let go of her, fuckhead." Tony swore loudly, then put her back in the iron hold, worse than before.

"Hold her up, Tony!" Len ordered, then took his knife out and sliced through her belt. He grabbed the waste band of her jeans and jerked them down to her knees, exposing her buttocks and upper thighs to the chill night air. Numbly, Henri at last accepted defeat. The air cold against her most intimate parts was the final realization for her mind that she was going to be raped. There was nothing else separating her from what they wanted to do to her, and she could not fight them off- she simply wasn't strong enough to stop them from doing it. She had lost.

_You weak, pathetic bitch,_ she thought in a subdued tone. Will was nowhere since telling her to go for her knife; he had abandoned her and was watching, horrified, in a corner of her thoughts.

Breathing hard and fast in her ear, Len ripped her shirt and tank top down the front, exposing her breasts. Henri squeezed her eyes shut tight and tried to imagine she was somewhere else. Her stomach heaved and roiled.

"Put her across that," Len ordered, pointing at an air-conditioning unit next to the back of the house. "Lay her facedown across it and hold her fuckin' arms on the other side." Tony did what he was told, holding her arms down hard against the cold metal. Henri shivered and tried to pull her arms away, earning her a blow to the back of her head, right over the place where Daryl had struck her hours before.

Len came up behind her, and she could hear him unzipping his jeans and rustling. _No, no no no no no no no GOD NO, _was all she was thinking, and she realized at some point that she was saying it out loud in a strangled cry, kicking her legs out at Len and screaming like a caged animal as she fought to free herself. "Don't- DON'T! NO!" She screamed, unable to move away.

"Hold her down!" Len spat, and Henri lost all coherent thought when he invaded her body, grunting, pushing himself inside of her and against her, and the pain was indescribable. She had had intercourse plenty of times before in her life, willingly, never forced upon her. It had never been painful, save for the first time. She didn't know that not wanting it could result in such invasive, tearing pain. Hot, bitter tears of shame and agony rolled silently down her cheeks as she endured her assault.

He was huffing and panting over her like a disgusting animal. "Fuck. Fuck!" He groaned as it went on and on, over and over. Henri thought it would never stop. She wanted to die. Just die and it would all be over, and she could be with her loved ones again.

At some point, Henri stopped struggling and just waited tensely for it to be over. Her attacker noticed she had stopped fighting and crooned, "Good girl, that's a good girl now. You feel fucking amazing. Just hold still-" his rough voice broke off mid-sentence and Henri sobbed with relief when he pulled abruptly away from her. But...? What the hell was happening?

She felt the vise-grip on her arms slacken and looked up through bleary, swollen eyes at Tony, who was staring over her head and behind her with a look of terror. She wrenched her arms free of Tony's grip, her numb and unsteady legs betraying her as she fell to the grass, curling up defensively against the air unit. Getting her bearings back enough to look up at what was now in front of her, she saw Len standing eerily still, looking down with blood pouring out of his mouth. There appeared to be an arrow growing out of his throat.

He looked down at her, bewildered, and she had a viciously triumphant thought before he collapsed facedown onto the lawn: _Looks like somebody got you from behind too, you evil son of a bitch. _Her vision clouded after she watched him fall, and she felt like she might be blacking out again. She closed her eyes, slumped with her head down, and didn't care.

Then, annoyingly, she felt a rough, callused hand touch her face where she had suffered the punch and she winced away from the touch. The hand laid gently along her cheek and then moved down to hold her chin, lifting her face up. Henri was struck with panic in her confused state and she struck out at the person touching her, her fists connecting with a solid chest. She shoved him away but he barely moved, just grabbed her wrists and held them gently but firmly to make her stop. She opened her eyes, knowing who she would see, but what her eyes perceived was not the right image; she was seeing blurred, partially red, and her vision had doubled up.

"Jesus." His voice was hollow and shocked. Hearing his voice, she let out a cry and tried opening her eyes wider and focusing more on him. If she tried hard, she could make the two Daryl Dixons merge into one, although it was still fuzzy. His facial expression was grim and full of barely concealed rage, his blue eyes dark with fury. "Can you walk? Tony ran before I could take him down, and he's wakin' the others any second now. We gotta go. I'm sorry this happened to you." His voice was angry and sad.

She shook her head and looked him in the eye through the bleary haze. "I have no idea what you're talking about. You stopped him before he could do anything to me."

His eyes widened in surprise and protest, but she shook her head again. "It was close, but you stopped him before he did anything. I'm okay, other than some bruises. Help me up..." He held her carefully by the arms and she pulled her jeans up and tried her best to cover her bare chest with the ripped halves of her shirts. She tried a shaky step before she collapsed. She knew she was falling, tensed and ready for the jarring impact of her body hitting the hard ground- but she never did land. Disoriented, she realized she was moving and that she was in his arms, being carried like a child with her legs hanging over one of his arms and her head cradled in the crook of his other arm. She made an indignant sound of protest to this arrangement, which he ignored. He had already grabbed her pack and his crossbow was slung over his back. He picked up the pace when he heard raised voices coming from the street on the other side of the houses.

"Hey," she said groggily, fading.

"What is it?" He asked, looking around urgently, his eyes squinting hard into the dark, scanning the surrounding areas over her head. He looked ready to kill someone or run a marathon, or both.

"Where are we going? Where are you taking me?" She had to force these two sentences out. It felt as if her thoughts were moving through molasses in her brain; slipping slowly close enough for her to identify them before they were pulled away, where she forgot all about them.

"Don't worry. We're goin' east, into the woods. I'm takin' you someplace safe." He had adjusted his hold on her to make her more comfortable and they were practically running now. He was moving fast.

Henri snorted a cynical, hysterical laugh at that and Daryl looked down at her in puzzlement. "Don't believe me?" He asked, sounding slightly hurt.

"Not... that," she forced out with effort, laughing a little more. "There... IS no safe place. Not anymore..." and she blacked out, swirling down and down, down into a black, cool pit of nothing. Her last halfway rational thought was that she never wanted to come back out.

_Stupid. You're fuckin' stupid,_ his mind raged at him mercilessly as he carried the girl, half walking and half running, heading around the town to the woods behind the houses on the west side of the street. He knew Joe wouldn't have expected them to run that way and risk being seen as they crossed the street.

_You should've been up, dumbass,_ he berated himself inwardly, keeping his eyes on his surroundings as he fled with Henri into the trees. _You knew she was pissed and had a mind of her own, why would you fall asleep? Don't matter how tired you were, or how long you'd gone without sleep. Never should've happened. _

And that was on him, he knew. Always would be.

Her body felt wrong as he held her against him. There were places that gave where they shouldn't and stuck out where they shouldn't, all around her ribcage. She probably had at least a couple that were broken and some cracked or dislocated at the very least. He wasn't sure about the rest of her, although her face was bloody and swollen and one eye appeared to be swelling shut.

_She lied about that sack of shit not doin' anything to her before I got to her,_ he thought grimly. _I saw it._ He decided to let that go for the time being, as she was injured badly and they were both about to be hunted by Joe and the others. He would be lucky to get her to anyplace safe from prying eyes before the sun came up.

_Best keep walkin', Joe ain't gonna stop looking,_ his thoughts spoke up, annoying him. "Shut up," he growled, quickening his pace as he dodged trees and zigzagged through the woods, taking care not to let the girl's head hit anything. Henri stirred against him at hearing his voice and moaned. He adjusted his hold again to make her more comfortable and pressed on through the trees. She felt as light as a feather in his arms, but he knew that the longer he kept up this pace and the faster he tried to go, she was going to become heavier and heavier until he would be forced to stop and rest.

Narrowing his eyes as he looked back into the blackness, he turned resolutely back and broke into a jog. There was no way he was letting them catch up to them, no fucking way. He braced Henri's body as firmly and gently as he could against him so that the impact wouldn't jar her too much.

_This is it,_ he thought sternly as he ran. _Your chance to help someone instead of hurt them, keep them alive instead of lettin' 'em die, reward their faith in you by not lettin' 'em down. Don't let this one down like you did all the others. ("You're gonna be the last man standin'.")_He looked down at Henri's face, feeling a sense of protectiveness invade him. She was utterly dependent upon him for now, and would die if he wasn't around to protect and watch over her.

He wasn't going to let it happen again.

Henri was dreaming.

_Looking up at the green leaves and dark branches of the peach tree she lay under, she could see the clear, cloudless blue sky pouring through the openings in the foliage, making her squint her eyes. The peach tree was her favorite place to collect her thoughts and relax outside at home, and even on days when it rained, she would sit beneath it and breathe in the heady scent of fresh-cut grass, damp Georgia earth, and let the smell and sound of the heavy pounding rain thunder in her ears and fill her soul, washing away and drowning out her troubles. _

_ "Are you even listening to me, Ettie?" Will sounded irritated. _

_She sighed and propped herself up on her elbows, giving him a weary glare. "Nope, and I won't, as long as you keep calling me that. You know I hate it, jerk." _

_ He stuck his tongue out at her and leaned back against the tree, lacing his fingers behind his head. "But I'm your husband, so I get special priveleges. And one of those priveleges is that I get to call you whatever ridiculous nicknames I like." He tipped her a wink, his trademark lazy grin spreading across his face, and tugged his camouflage cap down over his eyes. _

_ "Okay then, dear husband," she said with glee, "I will start calling you 'Willie' from here on out. That's my privilege, as your wife." She sat up and crossed her arms haughtily, raising her eyebrows. _

_ Will chuckled under his hat. "As long as you don't call my manhood a willie, I can live with that. Ow!" He pulled away, laughing as she socked him in the arm. _

_ She curled up next to him at the base of the peach tree and laid her head on his chest, breathing in his scent. "I miss this. I miss you, Will. I'm so lonely and sad, and no one will ever be able to fill that void. Not even close. Not the way that you did, and-" _

_ Will put a finger to her lips to stop her. "Don't. Don't say it." His usually smiling brown eyes were dark and troubled, warning her against the next words she wanted to say to him. _

_ Frustrated, she pulled away from him and stood, looking back towards the house, which sat about a hundred yards to the south of their tree. Their land was a lovely sight, twelve acres of rolling green land (Will wanted more, but Henri was content with what they had). The house faced to the east, the pillared front porch with wide brick steps leading to it the perfect spot to sit on the two-person porch swing and watch the sunrise while drinking coffee in the mornings. The back deck was stilted, the lower beams hidden by lattice on the ground. The treated steps led up to a large deck, home to their dog's doghouse and a glass top deck table with chairs that was a wedding gift from Will's best friend, John. A sliding glass back door led into the house. A horseshoe driveway made of white gravel rock wound around the two-story farmhouse and through the backyard, which was full of lilac bushes, crepe myrtles, and featured a mighty oak tree with an old tire swing hanging by an ancient rope from one branch. On the north side of the yard, on the other side of the driveway, a line of trees marched from the road nearly to the red barn at the end of the yard; evergreens, two apple trees, a cherry tree, a magnolia, and the peach tree they were under. On the south side of the house, in the front part of the yard, there was a stone garage with a set of steps that led down into the storm cellar, which had been used before at times due to a couple of tornado scares. The garage, only big enough on one side to house one small vehicle, was set up as a full shop on the other side and was also known as the "man-cave," where Will and his friends drank beer and bullshitted on Man Mondays and on weekends. It was set up completely the way he wanted it, and was his domain. Behind the garage, there was the propane tank and several other trees spread out in the open space of the yard; a gum tree, a walnut, a silver maple, an elm. In the middle of this open space was a charred area with ash in the center, where they dragged branches, sticks and cut-up trees and had bonfires during the spring, summer and fall. A couple of silver beer cans sat in the pile, glittering in the sun. Henri was always nagging Will to get them picked up. In front of the garage, there was a rose of sharon where the spring cardinals would come to play, and a huge, ancient willow tree; it was beautiful, and was the first thing that caught Henri's eye when she and Will had pulled into the driveway to look at the house before they decided to buy it. It was always hanging in Will's way and the roots were a pain to mow around, so Will was constantly bugging her to cut it down. She always scoffed and told him hell no, that tree was hers. In front of the house were two formidable evergreens. On the side of the house, where their bedroom window was, there was another old walnut tree. In the spring, a red woodpecker was constantly hammering away at the trunk, hopping all around it. At night, they could hear owls speaking in the tree: "Who-who, who-who." It drove their lab-boxer mix, Cash, absolutely crazy. He would howl and bark at the tree all night until Will opened the window and shouted at him to shut up. A barbed-wire fence started at the edge of the driveway and lined the other 10 acres of their land, running along the edges of the yard, behind the barn, and along the road. The cows grazed peacefully in the pasture. _

_ As always, surveying their property took her breath away on a beautiful day like this. It had always seemed too perfect to Henri, and in the end, it had been. She should have known she'd never get to keep it forever. Not just the house, but her life there... and the loved ones in it... were gone forever, and she had to avert her thinking away from life before the Turn just to keep _

_from losing her mind completely, the way she had when she had first lost everything. It was simply too much for her heart to take. _

_ She gazed for another moment at the house, then turned back to Will, who was still sitting casually at the base of the tree, watching her. "This is a dream," she said sadly. _

_ Will tipped his cap up and sighed, holding her gaze. "It sure is, darlin'. There's nothing I want more than to tell you it isn't, but it is. It's the only way for us both to come back home and enjoy life the way it used to be here." His brown eyes were sad. _

_ Henri sat down with him again, holding him tightly. "Then I just want to be here, with you, for as long as I can. I miss you so, so much, Will. I'm never going to be the same."_

_ Will craned his neck to look down at her. "What about this guy who's got you now? The one from the abandoned house with the bad group? He's taking care of you. Maybe he can help you, be your person. He saved you from those pieces of shit that assaulted you." _

_ Henri felt the dream ripple and flex, as if it were losing its reality. Her heart pounded and she clutched at Will's shirt, whispering, "Shut it, Will. I want to stay here, and you are talking about things that will make this stop. Leave it alone..." her voice sounded desperate to her ears. _

_ Entwining his long, rough fingers in her fiery red hair, he shook his head and smiled ruefully. "I can't, babe. I've got to make sure you know this stuff. You're hurt, and you're hurt bad. This guy is your only hope for making it out of this mess alive. Don't try to run from him, you won't make it far. He's gotta be a decent person to have saved you like he did, so promise me you'll give him a chance, Henri." His eyes were urgent and dark again, trying to convey the importance of what he was telling her. "Try to trust somebody. You haven't since... Since everything happened." Oh, such a small, nonchalant way of describing the events that led to the shattering of her world. She flinched back from him._

_ He reached out for her, appealing. "You know what I mean, Henri. We will not talk about it in detail, the grief is still too fresh for you. Try to understand." He rubbed her small hands in his big ones. _

_ Henri let her head drop, defeated. "But... we never talk about them, Will... ever..." Tears rolled down her face, hot and bitter._

_ He crushed her to his chest and spoke to her in a low voice. "I know, babe, I know it. We can't yet, it's just better not to. Let it go. Live, live life and let this guy be your protector. He is the one you need, just trust me, okay? Maybe talking to him about everything will help you get past it. It's worth a shot." _

_ She sat up and brushed away the tears, looking at Will as if he were insane. "I'm never going to 'get past' this, Will. It's all I ever think about, even when I'm not thinking about it. It's part of me now." She cocked her head at him, then decided to ask, "Will, when I hear you speak to me in my head, is it really you? Are you haunting me, or am I just crazy? Did I go off the deep end?" _

_ Will looked away from her, up at the sky. The blue expanse, cloudless just a few moments before, had filled with threatening black thunderhead clouds, lightning shooting through them. There was a loud CRACK! and the oak with the tire swing split as lightning stuck it. It caught fire and blazed brightly as rain began to fall in deafening torrents. Henri could smell the tire burning, an acrid rubber smell in her nostrils. "Will!" she shouted, trying to be heard over the rain. _

_ Will stood up, towering over her. He pulled her close to him and looked down at her, his eyes narrowed. Rain dripped from his eyelashes and from the end of his nose. "Henri, I told you before I died that even if I was gone, I would always be with you. I told you that I would never leave you, didn't I? Isn't that enough of an explanation for it?" He stroked her cheek, his eyes searching hers. The thunder boomed overhead and the ground shook._

_ She caught his hand in hers and leaned her cheek into it, closing her eyes. "I love you, Will. I have to wake up now, don't I?" She asked in a small voice. She opened her eyes, blinking rain out of them. _

_ Will nodded. "I wish you could stay, but you know you can't. It's not how it works." Pulling her against him again, he kissed her deeply and she melted into him, winding her arms tightly around his neck and knocking his hat off so she could run her hands through his hair. His rough hands tangled in her wet, curly locks of hair and he kissed her hungrily, making her feel lightheaded. _

_ He ended the kiss and murmured against her forehead, "I love you, Henrietta Laurel Lawson. Don't forget that. I'm waiting for you in the life beyond the one you can see. I will always be waiting." She closed her eyes and felt herself falling, twisting as if in a cyclone of wind and rain, the drops of water stinging and pattering her face as she fell away, no longer feeling Will's strong arms around her. She heard his familiar voice echo all around her one last time as the world disappeared, a white light filling her vision, and her heart contracted sharply: "I will always be with you." _

The first coherent thought she had upon coming back to consciousness was: _Oh, fuck everything in existence, I hurt._ She was in so much pain that she wished somebody would knock her out again. She was lying on something soft. Where the hell was she?

She opened her eyes (well, eye- the left one was so swollen she could barely open it) and saw a dark wood ceiling, rafters covered in cobwebs. Her vision blurred and doubled and she closed her eyes again, feeling her head swim with the pain. When she felt as if she had gained a foothold on it, she cautiously tried again, this time turning her head slowly to the right which sent another bolt of pain shooting up her neck. What she saw when her vision finally focused made her jump, sending more pain shooting through her entire body.

The man from the abandoned house stood leaning against the wall across the room from her, watching her carefully. His sea-blue eyes, hard and blank when he had spoken to her at the abandoned house, appeared to soften with... was it relief? Couldn't be. She had been a real bitch to him just before she had gone to sleep, and then had thrown a monkey wrench into his plans by sneaking out of there and forcing him to kill one of his companions. Now it appeared he had fled with her to... somewhere, she wasn't exactly sure... and she was sure he was livid at what he had been forced to do. By _her. _

He pushed away from the wall and walked slowly towards where she lay helplessly on the floor. As he drew closer, she flinched backwards away from him, causing her to wince and cry out quietly in agony. Her ribs, good god, her ribs. They felt as if they had been shattered and welded back together with good intentions and a prayer. She gasped through the blinding pain and looked up at him, feeling panicked and weak. If he was going to get rid of her, now would be the time- she was as helpless as a kitten. She tensed and waited for the end.

To her complete and utter shock, he knelt down beside her and did not touch her, asking in a low, unobtrusive voice: "How bad is the pain?"

She was so stupefied she couldn't answer. Her good eye, she knew, was wide and she was sure he could see the fear in her face. He sighed and gave her a 'come on now' look. "You ain't gotta be afraid of me, girl," he said. "I carried you all the way here to help you, not kill you. I taped up your ribs the best I could, suffered a few broken ones myself before. Cleaned you up, bandaged your cuts. I have some painkillers, not many though, and you're gonna need 'em, so I'll ask again- how bad is the pain?" He waited impatiently.

Relieved beyond measure, she felt a tear slip out of the corner of her bad eye and roll down the side of her face. "Bad," she croaked, and her voice came out in a crippled wheeze that sounded like winter wind shrieking through a rusty keyhole. She realized that her windpipe must have been damaged somehow in her attack, because her throat felt as if she had been snacking on handfuls of broken glass. She tried to swallow, an unsuccessful effort because her mouth and throat were as dry as a desert.

His eyes widened with understanding and he reached back behind him, coming back with a bottle of water and a cupped hand with something in it. She saw the water and suddenly felt as if she might die if she didn't have a drink of it right now. She tried to sit up and immediately slumped back to the floor, cradling her tender ribs.

"Don't try to move yet," he said sternly, unscrewing the cap from the water bottle. "I'll help you. Just relax." _Yeah, right. _

He carefully slid his left hand under the back of her head and gently lifted it up, holding the water to her lips. She leaned into it and drank deeply and greedily, the water spilling in her fervor and running down her face and neck, soaking her collar. He pulled it slightly away to stop her, and she whimpered.

"You can't drink it that fast, girl," he said reluctantly. "You'll get choked up and start coughin' when it goes down the wrong way, and you ever had a ccoughin fit with broken ribs? You think you're hurtin' now, you don't know nothin'." He waited for her acceptance of this.

She was pissed, but she nodded slightly and he brought the water back. She resisted the urge to gulp it with abandon and slowly sipped the water, feeling it soothe her aching, dry throat. When she had had enough, she turned her head to the side. He set it down and looked her over. "You think you might be ready for some painkillers?" She nodded vigorously, too vigorously, and winced at the pain that shot up her neck.

He lifted her head up again and put two round pills in her mouth, then gave her the water again so she could wash them down. She laid her head back and closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again and leveled her gaze at him. "Thank you," she croaked gratefully. "What-" -she cleared her throat- "what were those?" Her voice had come back a tiny bit.

He held up the prescription bottle and shook it. "Percocet. Should make it all go away. Don't have much though, not enough to get you through this completely. We'll have to take it easy on 'em, maybe break 'em in half once the pain is a little better."

Henri nearly cried with relief. Percocet? This guy was amazing. Where the hell had he found them? The pharmacies had all been raided and burned out by drug-seekers, she had thought- didn't know there were any left to find. Didn't really matter, she was grateful as hell. In a few minutes, she was going to be "on a cloud," as one of her patients had called it; she hadn't eaten in what must have been a long time based on the hollow, gnawing feeling in her stomach. Her stomach was going to chow down on those meds like Pacman, which would get rid of the pain even faster. She sighed, happy for the moment.

Amused at her look of joy, he produced a damp folded cloth and laid it across her forehead. She started to laugh, but it hurt too much, so she subsided with a small smile left on her face. "What is it?" He asked, probably wondering what could possibly be funny.

"Nothing," she said, waving her hand and shaking her head slightly. "It's just that usually, I'm the one taking care of the injured and the sick. Been a long time since I've been on the other side of the sickbed." At his perplexed look, she clarified: "I was a nurse before the Turn."

Nodding, he said, "That's good. Selfless work, takin' care of hurt, sick people for a living. I'm sure the pay was good, but you gotta be a certain kind of person to work that job. Ever see things that made you wanna quit?" He asked. She could see the curiosity in his eyes.

She thought for a moment. "Yes, I did," she said decisively. "I saw babies dead of SIDS and shaken baby syndrome, teenagers who were barely out of middle school dead or vegetables from crotch-rocket accidents, kids who were beaten by their parents." This last revelation made his face change from open and curious to drawn and reserved. "I saw a lot of family members fighting over the last wishes of a patient, fighting over their money; saw surgeons leave operating rooms defeated when they couldn't save a baby or a child, or somebody's wife and mother, or husband and father." She paused, thinking to herself, then opened her mouth as if to speak; she stopped, closing it again. Then, deciding to say it anyways, she rushed on: "In the end, I did quit. When the Turn started happening and the ones who died, even patients who had been on life support or had died of something completely unrelated to the fever or bite, started coming back and attacking the staff." Her words had gotten quicker and quiet. "I left. I ran, ran back home. I had-" she stopped herself again- "I had people waiting for me, depending on my return. I couldn't stay or I would have died too... Doesn't change the fact that I'm a coward for leaving."

He was looking at her with a strange expression. It appeared to be part sadness and part pity. "You ain't a bad person, or a bad nurse, for leavin' that hospital," he said quietly. "You did what you had to do 'cause you had people who needed you. Wasn't anything you coulda done for those people anyways; the hospitals were death traps after the Turn." He stopped, then appeared to think of something, "And that means you knew right away that no matter what happened, no matter if people were bit or not, they all came back after they died. You might've been one of the first people to realize that, you know. It took us awhile to find out."

"Us?" She asked tentatively. "Not the guys you were with, you said it had only been a few days you'd been with them. Did you have another group?" She felt like she was prying, but she couldn't help it.

He narrowed his eyes and looked away. "Yeah, I had another group. We started out in a camp outside of Atlanta, then after a few shitty events, we ended up at a farmhouse." He rubbed his jaw and looked troubled. "After it got overrun, we found a prison after some lookin', and holed up there. Lost some good folks tryin' to take it." He looked sad again. "Some piece of shit from a walled-off town nearby set his sights on us eventually... blew through our fences with a tank and killed a lot of us, walkers overran the place and the few of us who survived are in the wind now." He stopped again, his face a dark mask. "I only had one of the group with me when the shit hit the fan, and she's gone now too."

"What are walkers? That's what you call the zombies?" She asked, curious.

He nodded. "Good a name as any, I s'pose."

"I like it. It's better than 'zombie'. I feel so lame saying that word."

He snorted a laugh and shook his head. He was deep in thought.

She decided to press her luck a little further. "So... you said there was one group member with you after the attack on your prison. What happened to her? Was she bitten?"

His head snapped up, and she could see that she had pushed it too far. His eyes were wounded and his jaw was clenched. "I don't know," he snapped, his voice clipped and scathing. "She disappeared. I looked for her but hit a dead end. That enough info for ya?" He was on his feet now, glaring down at her. She didn't shrink back this time.

"I'm sorry." She studied him, watching his reaction. "I didn't know how much it bothered you. I won't ask again."

He wasn't done though; he threw back at her: "Hey, while we're talkin' about people who we lost, let's hear your story, huh? Let's here about your devastating losses, hmm? I bet you got brothers, sisters, parents, friends, all dead now, right? You said your whole family was gone, right?" He was pacing, practically yelling at her. His eyes were full of fury and something else- something that looked like guilt. "How 'bout a husband, huh? Kids? You look like something has got you all fucked up, so let's hear it. Bare your soul, girl. Just tell me all of your deep, dark secrets like you seem to want me to do." He waited, his hands clenched at his sides. "No? Not gonna take me up on that, eh? That's what I figured." He stalked to the door of the dilapidated (cabin?) they were in, opened it, and disappeared outside, slamming it behind him.

Henri blinked, not sure what had just happened. _At least now you know, you're not allowed to ask him about his past. At all. If he wants to tell it, he'll tell it. But that means you don't tell him about yours; keep it to yourself._ The angry digs about her family she had lost had stung, but only because it still hurt her. She knew he was probably feeling the same; the overwhelming survivor guilt. She decided to forgive it and let it go.

She was surprising herself; normally she was not so quick to forgive and forget. Perhaps it was gratitude for saving her life and nursing her back to health, but she wanted to believe that it was the Percocet finally kicking in. Her head felt strangely detached from her body, as if her body were still lying on the floor but her head had become tethered to it by a balloon string, floating a few feet above the floor. She felt loopy. She tested the painkillers by squirming in place, testing her muscles and rib pain by trying to sit up. She could still feel the pain, but it was barely there through the wall of numbness that was spreading through her. She slowly stood up, feeling creaky and awkward in her unused body.

She took a few tentative steps across the floor and looked back to see what she had been cushioned with. It appeared to be a bed of blankets and clothing, a couch pillow at the distal end for her head. She pulled up her shirt, examining the tape that had been carefully wound around her torso, binding her cracked and broken ribs to prevent further injury and to help them heal. Her shirt had been changed, and so had her jeans. She was wearing the leggings and a shirt she had put in her pack at the house.

But if he had changed her clothes and bound up her ribs over her bare skin, then that meant... Her face flushed scarlet as she realized he had seen her completely naked. _Oh well, nothing you can do about that now,_ she thought. Her embarrassment was stupid; he had already seen her half-naked when- when-

She was rocked to her core as she remembered exactly what had happened to her after she left the house. The rape, the beating, the blood and death. She had not exactly forgotten it, but it had been fuzzy and nondescript in her consciousness upon waking; she had been able to not think about it for awhile. Now, it came rushing back with a vengeance.

She stared blankly at the floor as it replayed in her head (_"Hold her down!" Grunts, huffing and panting, "Good girl"_). She remembered every second of it, she was sorry to admit. She had thought she was dead. Would that she had been, because this reckoning was making her wish she was. She felt sick. Her legs shook beneath her. Her hand clutched a chair in front of her as she took deep, tremulous gasps of air.

Daryl paced the woods in front of the ramshackle cabin, muttering to himself. He was furious but wasn't sure why, other than the fact that she was a nosy broad who didn't know when to stop asking questions.

_But why are you really pissed off?_ His traitorous mind asked him. _Is it because she was asking questions out of curiosity, __or because you feel guilty and responsible for whatever happened to Beth?_

He shook his head hard to try and make the thought go away, but he knew it was true. He had never felt more worthless or more like a weak, useless son of a bitch in his entire life than he had when he watched that car haul ass down the road and disappear over the horizon with Beth inside of it. It was his fault completely; he had let her be taken.

_And you just snapped out on that girl in there for darin' to ask a couple questions about it, _he chided himself, knowing what he needed to do. _Get your ass back in there and apologize to her. Tell her what happened to Beth. _

He heard rustling in the trees. He lowered into a crouch and pulled his knife from his belt, holding it in a ready position. He crept towards the sound, off to his left, and heard the raspy snarl of the walker before he saw it. He jumped on it, stabbed into its eye, and let it drop to the forest floor. Looking down at it, he gave it a petty and temperamental kick. _Bastards. So sick of dealing with 'em. _

Looking reluctantly toward the cabin door, he began to trudge. He hated saying he was sorry, even if he was the only asshole in the wrong. He felt like it made him look weak, and he hated looking weak even more than he hated apologizing. He was in for a whole lot of humiliation and discomfort when he walked through that door, but he knew it had to be done if he wanted to keep any kind of good rapport with the girl.

_Henri, you dick,_ he scolded himself. _Her name is Henri, not 'the girl,' or 'the chick' or 'the lady.' Her name is Henri. Start thinkin' of her that way, and what the hell, maybe use it when you talk to her. You might be surprised where it gets you._

With his hand on the knob, he tried to think of things to say to her to apologize, and how to go about telling her about Beth. He let out a breath and decided to just wing it. Turning the rusty old knob, hearing it squeal, he opened the door and walked back inside.

In the dark, he couldn't see the whole room immediately. He walked forward a few steps, taking out his lighter and striking the flint against the leg of his jeans to get the flame going. "Henri?" He called softly, her name feeling strange and out of place on his lips. "Can I talk to ya? Just wanna say-" he stopped abruptly, both walking and talking, as he realized that she was not lying where he had left her in the cabin. The makeshift bed he had fashioned for her was empty. _What the hell? How is she up and walking? Those painkillers should have knocked her on her ass_ was all he had time to think before he turned away and saw her glaring at him from the corner, her teeth bared and eyes glittering dangerously.

He put his hands up defensively, still holding the lighter. "Whoa now, girl," he said plaintively, then caught himself. "Henri," he tried again. "What's goin' on? Why're you up? You could be hurtin' yourself-" he had started forward, but she slashed out at him fiercely, and he saw with dismay that she had found her knife on the table. He held up his hands again and backed away. He couldn't grab her, tackle her or be rough with her to disarm her; he would injure her even more. He looked her over. Her eyes were glazed and bewildered, her hand trembled. Her lip was quivering slightly. Her chest was heaving as she took ragged, shallow breaths. A sheen of sweat covered her forehead and upper lip and her chest. She looked like a person in a drugged daze striking out in fear and anger, which is what she was.

_Take it easy with her,_ he thought carefully. _She's just confused. _"Henri," he said gently, "it's me, Daryl. Remember? Daryl Dixon. I found you in the house, kept you from leavin' because of the group of bad guys. You sneaked out, got caught up by them, and I found you and saved you, remember? I brought you here and fixed you up, gave you the pain meds. That's what's got you all twisted up now; it's okay. You're out of it. Just put your knife down and we'll get you rested up and we'll talk." He spoke slowly and reassuringly, knowing how unpredictable people could be when drugged up. _You shouldn't have left her alone in here, idiot. _

Henri looked up at him warily through the tangled red curtain of her hair. "Y-you... You were w-with them?" she somehow managed to make it sound like a statement, a question and an accusation all at once. "You were... with the guys who attacked me. Camped with them... slept by them... hunted with them, ate with them, traveled with them." Now it was full-blown accusation and anger in her voice. Her words were slurred slightly. "Why, Daryl?" It was the first time she had used his name since she had awakened. Now she looked hurt, like she was trying to reconcile the man who had saved her with a man who would travel with and be part of a group of vicious people. He wondered that himself. "Why would you be with people like that unless, unless you are like them too?" Her voice shook. "I don't understand..." He saw the knife begin to lower and saw an opportunity. He took it.

"It's okay, Henri," He said slowly. "I told you why- because I didn't wanna be alone. I didn't know they were like that-"

"Liar!" she shouted at him. "You're a liar! You had to have known and you stayed with them anyways! _Stay back!_" She screamed the last two words as he took another step towards her, then she raised the knife high and attacked.


End file.
